


poison and wine

by cattlaydee



Series: i'll make a million mistakes [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Romance, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6442441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1754, Lawrence and George Washington travel to Nevis and George finds himself taken with one Rachel Faucette. Washingdad AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you only know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herowndeliverance (atheilen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a grace too powerful to name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571534) by [herowndeliverance (atheilen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance). 



> i'm throwing my hat in the ring. this was heavily inspired by [herowndeliverance's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance) [aegis](http://archiveofourown.org/series/375677) and [vine and fig tree](http://archiveofourown.org/series/403045) series'. this will be a three chaptered work, and will become part of a series to include one-shots that will take place after Hamilton gets to America. if all goes the way I want it to and my brain complies. 
> 
> i'm messing with dates all over the place, as a warning for those who may be sticklers.

**January, 1754**  
  
Frost covered the sleek branches of the bare trees that hung over the front drive to Mount Vernon. The carriage shook softly, shaking the two men within the cab. Lawrence Washington coughed into his handkerchief, wiping at the spit and trace amounts of blood that found it's way onto the pristine cloth, just another bellwether of how dire his illness may be. He frowned at the sight and pocketed the offending object, straightening up. His younger brother was watching him closely.  
  
"For heaven's sake George, it's not that bad. Quit looking at me as if I'm made of glass." He huffed. "It's only flaring up because of the harsh winter, the tropical climate will make it much easier for me to mend."  
  
"Forgive me for my concern. It's only your life."  
  
"Don't be so theatrical." He coughed softly once more, and glared back at his younger brother as he received a look that seemed to say, _see?_  
  
"We'll be in Nevis in less than two weeks time and I will grow more healthy, you shall see, George. The time away will be good for you as well. This growing conflict with the French has weighed on you, I can tell."  
  
George sighed audibly, leaning back to look out the window of the carriage as they drew closer to the wharf. His brother was not wrong. While he held no high rank, the intensity of the dispute seemed to be escalating and he grew eager to prove himself worthy of the status of officer.  
  
But his brother, at this moment, was his greatest concern. Plagued with this cough on and off for the past two years, it had seemed to grow more severe this winter. He watched when Lawrence did not know he was there, the older man bent over a pot of hot water, breathing in the steam and closing his eyes in a wince at what he imagined to be pain in his lungs.  
  
" _Consumption_ ," He'd heard someone whisper near him once, one of the local women gossiping with her friend. He had fixed her with a glare, one that had seen the blood drain from her face before she turned and hurried in the opposite direction.  
  
No, now his brother needed to be healthy. The war would almost assuredly still be here when they returned in late Spring.  
  
When they reached the wharf, he directed his slaves to unload their trunks and bags and have them brought to the loading dock of the ship that sat in the harbor. He strode to his brother's side of the carriage, and when he opened the door, Lawrence fixed him with a scowl.  
  
"For Gods sake, George, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not an invalid!" He batted his brother's arm away and gingerly made his way down the steps to the cobblestone, bracing himself against the carriage before straightening. "I will be very glad to be away from this dreadful cold though."  
  
_That_ George could agree with, if nothing else.  
  
The trip was, thankfully, a calm one. George had never much fancied traveling by sea, the rocking of the ocean's waves making him dreadfully ill so he spent most time above deck to keep from making a mess in the quarters. They had paid a generous sum and were able to procure a private room for the two of them, so they had privacy in their misery. By the time they landed in Nevis 10 days later, George swore his tall frame was markedly slimmer.  
  
His brother's prediction proved to be true as their trip carried through it's first month. The cough became more mild and less productive, the best of all being the absence of blood, and his brother seemed to have more energy. To say that the climate here far outweighed the chill back home in Virginia would be an understatement. He often found himself walking along the pier close to the water, clad only his trousers and a thin, long sleeved billowy linen shirt, the warm sun beating down on him as the salty air swept over him from the sea. He longingly wondered what it may be like to never depart, but he knew Mount Vernon and a call to honorable duty awaited him back home. He could not deny his high ambitions of rising to a commanding post in his Highness's services.  
  
With Lawrence in such fair spirits, his older brother spent much of his time conducting business with some of the local merchants, arranging trade deals that he would be able to put into motion once they returned to the plantation. George knew this was good for his brother. It would have reinforced his usefulness, made him feel like he had before the sickness had descended upon him and, George believed, only lent to his recovery. This left George to his own devices, which most of the time included a lot of reading and writing to make up for what he felt were shortcomings in his education as a child.  
  
While Lawrence seemed to flourish, George seemed content to consign himself to relative oblivion on the island, which his brother soon took notice and grew tired of. While George seemed unwilling to consider that his illness was a fatal one, Lawrence was not so naive, and would be loathe to leave his potential successor to the estate of Mount Vernon so unprepared.  
  
He would have to change it.  

* * *

Lawrence, George realized dourly, would not leave him in peace.  
  
"We have been here nearly a month, and you have rarely left the rooms." His brother softly chided him, crossing his arms. "You sit in here with books and parchment, and make no friends. You should come with me tonight to the McDowell's mansion for a dinner. There will be music and dinner and many young ladies of high status for you to engage with."  
  
George snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back in the chair with his book, crossing his legs. "I've no interest in engaging with anyone when we will be leaving in such a short time. You may be partial to superficial relationships, dear Lawrence, but I will not partake in such inane activities."  
  
"Ah, well, I see your reading has paid off, your vocabulary seems to have grown a great deal." He sniped in reply. "I will require it of you, then. As your patron---"  
  
"My _patron_?"  
  
"Yes. I have financed this trip, and you will be helping me with the management of my estate back home, and so you must learn the practices by which business is conducted."  
  
"And going to a party with you will teach me these things?"  
  
His older brother had had enough, and leveled him with a soft glare. "George."  
  
"Lawrence." He hissed back, slamming his book shut. "Fine. I will attend and learn. As you say, it would probably do me well to get out and mingle."  
  
"Thank you. We depart at dusk, it is not far." He softened a bit, leaning toward his brother as he grasped the chair across from him. "I know you enjoy these things, and I promise you, the company will keep. Please give it a fair try."  
  
He stood up and left then, for whatever reason George did not know, and he returned to his book with a frown. Lawrence wasn't _wrong_ ; he did enjoy gatherings, but more so when he knew those who would be there, when he could relax and not be concerned with their perceptions. He anticipated this night would be spent tense and unnerving, probably in the corner of the room and close to his brother.  
  
_It would be better spent studying_ , he thought wryly to himself, shaking his head.  
  
He would not be more wrong.

* * *

It was not as crowded as George had anticipated, a small blessing that he acknowledged early on. He smiled tightly at the hosts, who welcomed he and his brother with wide smiles and soft questions. They did not seem interested in prying, or in false niceties, and after introducing him to the spirits available, seemed content to leave him to himself until dinner. Once it had been served and they had eaten and taken dessert, he found himself comfortably enjoying himself, a state perhaps attributable to the alcohol he had been partaking in since they'd arrived.  
  
As the guests began to mingle once more, Lawrence grabbed him by the elbow and steered him to a corner where he introduced George to a rum distributor from the island. After pleasantries were exchanged, they began what George considered to be the mundane task of discussing business and he half listened as Lawrence seemed to find a comfortable pattern. He let his gaze wander around the room.  
  
A silvery laugh split through the chatter, and he lazily craned his head in the direction, a mere reaction, but he didn't look away when he saw the source.  
  
Rich brown curls piled atop the head of a woman wearing a cornflower blue gown, her profile on full display as she let her hand rest upon that of another lady in her circle, who continued to chatter on as she regaled her with some tale. George watched the source of the laughter, something stirring within him at her animated reaction. He must have been fixed on the scene for a few lost moments, not fully realizing how blatantly, because her friend grinned suddenly, leaning into whisper to the woman in blue, and she turned all the way toward him, looking curiously.  
  
He turned fully away, his cheeks burning. His brother and the merchant seemed not to have noticed, deep in conversation about the conditions of their burgeoning business agreement. He cleared his throat, excusing himself to get another drink before intending to head out into the night for some air.  
  
The gardens were beautiful, and the weather, despite being early February, was pleasantly tepid, not stifling in warmth and yet with no hint of the frost that had surely descended back in Virginia. It seemed another world entirely, a place outside of his reality and he found it to be a welcome reprieve from some of the thoughts and concerns that plagued him for months past.  
  
"Do you not enjoy the party, sir?"  
  
His fingers tensed around the glass of scotch in his hand. The pathway was lit by lanterns along the pathway, and there were very few other guests outside at the time to admire the porch's layout. He was unfamiliar with the tone of the source of the question, but the back of his neck tingled at the sense of being looked upon and he couldn't help but equate it with the feeling he had received when the lady had looked upon him just a short time earlier.  
  
He silently cleared his throat, drawing himself up to be straighter and taller in an effort to look as dignified as possible, and turned, pulling his drink close, coming within eyesight of the lady he had expected. Her face betrayed a hint of amusement at his state, and her hands were folded neatly in front of herself.  
  
"My lady." He acknowledged smoothly, the hint of a welcoming smile finding it's way onto his lips. The lanterns did little to illuminate the whole of the courtyard, but as she made her way closer, slowly, her features came clearer into view. In the silence, the bubbling of a fountain behind him seemed to resonate loudly, but he supposed that was only in the silence. He could still hear her light footsteps on the cobblestones.  
  
"You didn't answer my question."  
  
He took a deep breath, stepping back toward the back of the enclave he stood in as she grew closer. There was a bench and an armchair, lanterns hung between the seats. She stood across from him, smiling expectantly. "I found the party to be...overstimulating. I just needed some air."  
  
She nodded. "I can understand that. Sometimes these affairs can be exhausting." She sat on the bench, gesturing towards the single chair for him to sit. "You're a new face. I've not seen you before. Nor the man you came with."  
  
"My brother." He offered, taking a sip of the scotch. It burned warm down his throat, settling in his belly with a comforting feel. "We are on holiday from the Virginia colony. My name is George, my lady. George Washington. It's a pleasure..." He trailed, eyeing her expectantly.  
  
"Rachel Faucette." She nodded at him, offering her hand as she leaned closer to his side. He took it with a soft nod, but did not bring her hand to his lips. She folded her hands in her lap. "And how do you know Mr. McDowell, if you and yours are from so far away?"  
  
"Lawrence, my brother," He clarified, "is pursuing a business venture. I am here merely for the company."  
  
"I am friendly with his sister. So I am as well."  
  
They fell into a decent cadence of conversation, commenting on the surrounding gardens and how it was so different than that of Virginia in the winter. She studied him quietly as he spoke, adding in her own perspective's here and there but by no means dominating the conversation. She found with men, it was easier to let them reveal their character first, especially given her past misfortunes with them. It wasn't that she was taken with Washington, she did not know him at all, but she had seen him casting his glance at her in discussion and there hadn't seemed a predatory glint in him at all, did not have the uncomfortable sensation of an object to be collected. Instead, he seemed to be genuinely intrigued by her, at only a glance, and seeing the new face, she had felt the same.  
  
So here she was.  
  
He was reticent, choosing his words carefully as he spoke. He did not condescend her, but was frank, and honest as he sipped at the scotch in his glass. He asked of her thoughts on literature and if they had theater on the islands ( _they did not_ , she bemoaned, but she enjoyed reading the dramatists if the opportunity provided itself.) She noticed that his leg bounced just a bit, abounding with nervous energy perhaps.  
  
She had no intentions of meeting someone new. James had left months before after the stress of little James had been wearing on the both of them, the promise of a new business venture from his lips, but they both knew that meant nothing. She wondered if she would ever see him again, with no idea where he may have sailed off to, for she had not had a letter from him in 3 months time and didn't expect one anytime soon.  
  
"And what does your husband do, my lady?"  
  
She cursed her luck, pulling the hand on which she sported her ring closer to her chest. She smiled tightly, and he seemed to realize he had said something amiss, because he cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if to speak to retract his inquiry. She waved him off.  
  
"It's alright. My... _husband_..." She trailed off. "My personal circumstance is one of uncertainty at the moment, sir, if you do not mind. I would rather not speak on it, if that is alright."  
  
"I...apologize, for being so forward. I merely observed and assumed..."  
  
"I understand." She rushed on, her cheeks burning, not wanting to suffer the impertinence of a forced apology. She played with the ring on her finger, sliding it up and down her hand with half a mind to cast it across the greens. "You've nothing to apologize for. I wear the jewel for...it's just easier that way."  
  
A pleasant conversation had suddenly become awkward and she looked away, her mouth setting in a line. Nevis was not as beholden to custom as the colonies or the mother countries were, but there was still often talk and whispers of her situation. An estranged, abusive husband,  a current illegitimate husband and child, the former of which was strangely absent now...she knew what they said about her. She was hoping that maybe meeting someone knew, unblemished by such gossip, perhaps could become a friend, at the very least, but given her past experience, she expected it to be unlikely. If he were to inquire about her situation to others, were he interested in pursuing a friendship further, he would surely be apprised of some common talk, and never look upon her again.  
  
And she had so enjoyed speaking with him, until now. She stole another glance at him, relieved to find his gaze on the ground, searching as if for something for somehow to change the conversation. He was so handsome, broad shouldered with defined features and those _blue_ eyes, she could see those even in the dim light. She felt a pang of disappoint, but knew what her next course of action would be.  
  
"I will let you be, now, sir." She stood gently, smoothing her skirts. "I apologize for disturbing your retreat."  
  
"I did not mean to offend, my lady," He objected softy, rising with her as he set the drink down. His expression seemed to reflect modest distress. "And I quite enjoy the conversation. I daresay it is the highest point of my evening. Please, stay. You are not disturbing me."  
  
"Mr. Washington,"  
  
"Please, call me George."  
  
She took a deep breath, a half smile finding it's way to her face at the comment, a flush blossoming on her neck. She needed to not look at him straight on. He was tall, and strong looking, with auburn hair and fair eyes. He smiled at her softly, and she realized, rather strikingly, that he truly meant it when he expressed a mere enjoyment of her company and conversation. She looked away, shaking her head, suddenly softly embarrassed. "Sir, you are new to our shores and our little town, but please do not think me overly circumspect. My standing in my community is precarious, and being seen with me, well...it could be tenuous for your social standing here."  
  
"I'm not overly concerned with my standing in Nevis, my lady. I'm just looking for someone to talk to. A friend."  
  
"You know very little of me, sir. There are others..." She trailed off with a shrug. "It may affect your brother's business, if we were to become acquaintances. Or, even, the way people treat you in the streets..."  
  
"Then they are not the sort of folk I would have either to do with. Besides," He shook his head, casting a glance at the busy hall before meeting her gaze once more with that gentle smile she was already so taken with. "my brother has a knack for business, I'm sure no one will even notice." He paused. "Ma'am, I only want permission to see you more. Nothing more, nothing less, than hopefully a friendship.  But I will relent, if I'm overstepping my bounds."  
  
The silence hung between them. She fiddled with her bodice, not meeting his eyes. "You are not." She looked up, the light and the soft hum of the party behind them echoing in her ears. "We have been gone for a time, though. If we are to be friends, shall we return? Maybe discuss more over spirits?"  
  
He looked a bit disappointed to be relieved of their solitude, but he smiled fondly, dipping his head in a nod.  
  
"Perhaps, when we return, we can partake in one of the dances?"  
  
"You dance, sir?" She teased, the hint of laughter lacing her words. She let her lips slide between her teeth to subdue a smile, bowing her head in a moment of modesty. When she raised her gaze once more, the expression he wore was more lighthearted.  
  
"I dabble."  
  
"And what steps do you prefer?"  
  
"The Minuet, mostly, my lady, but I have recently heard of the Allemande and wanted to try my feet at it."  
  
"It is not much more than the Minuet, sir. Perhaps at another time, I will teach you, as I'm sure you would not want to attempt here?"  
  
He paused, considering. It wasn't unusual to learn the dance at a party, especially later in the evening when interaction would grow less formal. But there was something in the way she looked at him, up through lashes, a little unsure. He smiled.  
  
"You are correct, my lady. But for now," He held out his hand and she seemed to measure him up and down, wary at his kindness, despite her desire to keep the conversation going. "We can enjoy the Minuet. I look forward to fortifying our burgeoning acquaintance."  
  
Had he not heard her? Did he not fully understand? She felt the need to push back more, to forewarn him of the gossips and things they would say about them more, and that he should know that appearing to be friendly with her could be harmful to any station he had hoped to establish here. The easy expression he wore seemed not to care.  
  
"As do I, sir," She replied softly, extending her hand as well. He grasped her fingers softly, preparing to lead her back to the main hall, and she almost drew back at the sensation it seemed to inspire in her. With a soft breath in, her eyes found his and the peaceful, content expression on his face seemed to mirror exactly what could begin welling inside of herself at that moment. She let her fingers tighten around his, let her elbow bend so that he could guide her, and fell into step as they made their way to the main hall.  
  
"As do I."


	2. i don't have a choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk and a dance

It was two days later when George found himself in a barren tavern house almost a mile from where they were boarding, earlier in the afternoon than he would be used to. As the night had worn on, he and Rachel had carried on their conversation, which had slowly transformed into easy flirtation as the wine flowed. By the time Lawrence pulled him to their carriage, he was being laughed at by his brother for making cow eyes at the lady.  
  
"Merely a new friend." George had slightly slurred, waving his brother off. Perhaps if he said it out loud, it would be true.  
  
She had teased him about not knowing how to partake in the Allemande, and had offered to privately tutor him. Surely part of the flirtation, but George was hard pressed to pass up an opportunity to get to know the lady more, especially in a more private environment. Besides, dancing was important, as was so evidenced by the gathering-a social requirement, especially if he were to rise to any sort of notoriety.  
  
Yes. This was for the good of his career. Nothing more.  
  
She seemed to be surprised when he knocked on the tavern door before letting himself in. She was wiping down tables, an occupation, she had told him, to help supplement the money her mother provided as her child's father was so indisposed. As the night had worn on, he had gleaned more of her story from the gossips she had so alluded to.  
  
"Two children, I've heard, from two different men..." Some blonde woman had faux whispered, her face half hidden by a fan, a half smile on her face as she leered up at him. He had swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally sipping at his wine, averting her eyes.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
He hadn't really known what to say. When he failed to fuel the scandal, she seemed to wilt, disappointed, turning her attention to another.  
  
He'd picked up more information about her. Not quite divorced, her new husband away on a "business trip", a phrase they uttered with raised eyebrows, the hint of a wink, and he felt a distinct burn, searching for the sight of her over heads and shoulders as she socialized. They pained him, those words falling from the others mouths and he knew, he just knew, that things were not as simple as all of these people insinuated.  
  
And even if they were. How dare she, defending herself against an abusive man, raising a child on her own once abandoned by a man he could only assume to be a scoundrel, defy social norms and rise above constraints,  with ever the smile on her beautiful face?  
  
He was ashamed of himself for being surprised at the empathy he felt for the woman, as he was sometimes more inclined to pass judgement with these sorts of things. It went against any sort of order he knew for proper life practices, but there was such a sincerity in the struggle she seemed to embody that he could not but feel impressed by her. She had not denied her hardship, nor seemed to make excuses for it before he'd heard the whole of it, and she embraced her situation as it were. The fact that she cared for her little one on her own now, in the face of surely great difficulty, was admirable beyond measure, in his esteem.  
  
So now he was here, in her place of employment before the early afternoon rush would be visiting, and there was not a patron in sight. As he let the door close behind him, she rose from the table she was wiping off, the rag in her head. Her face lit into a smile once she saw him.  
  
"Mr. Washington! I was wondering if you would come by this afternoon! It is so good to see you again, please come in."  
  
He settled against the wall of the tavern, his hands crossed behind his back, a curious smile on his lips. There was a part of him uncertain of why he was here, even afraid of it. Could he be just friends with Rachel, beautiful and intelligent and most definitely spirited? To pretend that he had not thought of her in a certain manner would be a lie, though he had quickly sought to banish those from his mind.  
  
She threw the rag behind the counter, turned to face him as she brushed her hands off on her apron and crossed her arms.  
  
"We probably have an hour or so. What can I do for you, Mr. Washington?"  
  
"Like I said previously, madam. I would prefer you address me as George." He smiled back at her, shifting his weight as he stood straighter. "You promised me instructions on a dance, Ms. Faucette."  
  
She laughed at him and shook her head. "Early afternoon in a dirty pub house is hardly the place for such formal education, sir."  
  
"It was not my intention, I assure you. Merely an attempt to secure a moment of your time in the future." He held his hat in his hand, having removed it upon his entrance, and gestured in a moving forward motion. "You had mentioned you enjoy walking along the water when you have time and I was hoping, if you didn't find it too discourteous a request, that I may join you on one of your retreat's one afternoon."  
  
She felt the lure cast to her, and in his face, saw a hint of hope and nerves. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, bit at her bottom lip. She was concerned, on the one hand, for herself and for her child, for her already damaged situation, but on the other...  
  
She was wont for a friend. There were scant few women who would speak to her, even spend time with her, and those that would, often had some ulterior motives. It had been some time since she'd had someone to speak on this with, especially one so outside this place, and he was handsome. And he was smart, and kind, and he treated her like something other than a conquest. He was extending her, under no pretense, an offer of company and if she so chose, she could deny him that, without any sort of reprisal of her own to suffer, free to disappoint him and send him on his way.  
  
But she would never. She knew that as soon as he walked through the door.  
  
"I like to go a bit before dusk. A few days a week I work into the night but if you can wait two days time..."  
  
"I will wait however long you deem appropriate, madam."  
  
She smiled up at him. "Alright then. Two days, meet me here at mid afternoon. For now...would you like some ale and a sandwich? It is just about time for a midday meal, and I should like the company before we get too many other patrons."  
  
He replied on with a matching grin, and held out a hand for her to lead the way, and she did, giving him a table by the window and leaving to retrieve him some ale, as he withdrew a bound book to continue his self-learning.  
  
To have such company, he supposed, could only make it more bearable.

* * *

  
In two days time, he returned to the tavern as promised to find her finishing her shift, laughing as she chatted pleasantly with another woman whom shot Rachel a knowing, almost salacious glance as he formally greeted them both. He chose to ignore it, and let her lead the way out of the tavern and toward the water. He wasn't all that sure where he was going anyway.  
  
She was amused at his disposition. He fidgeted a bit, as if uncertain of his presence, but his pace matched her own so he stayed by her side, a feat she imagined must have required some restraint with his long legs, and she appreciated it. He asked how her day had gone, how her son fared, very formal inquiries that made her bite down on her lip to keep from giggling. She could tell something warred within him, a desire to do what he knew society expected of him and what he really wished to do, which she was still not sure of. An attraction between them existed, to be sure, but he did not strike her as a man only interested in carnal endeavors. If genuine companionship was what he craved, then getting to know each other before further flirtation ensued may be the wisest way to go about it.  
  
They came to a cove, a quiet, secluded area she expected them to be able to speak more freely and she turned to him. "Would you like to learn that dance, Mr. Washington?"  
  
Even in the heat, he flushed. "In the sand, ma'am? I would think that would make for a very clumsy start..."  
  
She took his hand, which twitched in response. "It was the reason you wished to join me on my walk, was it not, sir?"  
  
"George, Ms. Faucette. I've asked you that before."  
  
"Then it is Rachel, for you, George. And you did not answer my question."  
  
He cleared his throat, clearly unsettled, and shifted from one foot to the other. "To be true, Rachel...a mere reason to spend time with you. I believe a beach to be unstable..."  
  
"Nonsense." She insisted, then stepped back, lifting her arm and he drew up straight, surprised but pleasantly, it appeared, if the amusement on his face spoke to anything. She began to guide him through the steps, which comprised of many twists and circular paths which she would take only a few steps of, before retreating to retrace them in an effort to commit them better to memory.  
  
He had not been incorrect in commenting on the stability of the sand, but somehow, that made the experience all the more pleasant. It relaxed the both of them, tripping over their feet, unsteady in their movements, drawing laughter from each as they made their mistakes, goading the other in jest.  
  
After a few tries, George seemed to take to it. He was a fine dancer, a natural once given the steps, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was as naturally skilled in other physical forms of expression. By now, he had stripped his light overcoat off to only be wearing the thin linen shirt he'd grown accustomed to in the balmy climate.    
  
As she walked him through the last spin on their third or fourth go round, she found herself situated up under his shoulder as the dance was meant to end, and she let herself look up, to find his face tilted to meet her own, their noses only a few inches apart. She felt her heart speed up a bit, and attributed it to a mix of the heat of the afternoon and their exercise.  
  
But she did not pull back, not just yet.  
  
"George..." She breathed and he finally let her go, squaring himself to her, drawing her closer.  
  
"If you think me impertinent at all, madam, tell me at once. Tell me that I am wrong in what I feel when I look at you, in the way that you appear to feel when you look at me."  
  
She was dizzy from it all, as if looking down from a great height instead of up at him, and she grabbed his arm to steady herself, unable to look away from him.  
  
"Impertinent is not a word I would use. In fact, I find you almost genteel to a fault..."  
  
It seemed to be the only assent needed. He cupped her face quickly, bringing his lips to hers as he bent down toward her, and she gasped as her grip on his forearm tightened. She pushed back, deepening the kiss, and he stumbled backward, not breaking the contact, but soon finding his footing and planting himself in one spot to act as a wall where she could rest against. Her hands roved up his arms, able to feel the definition through the thin shirt and brought her arms up under his, pulling him close to her. She could feel him through her skirts, pressing against her thigh and she pulled back a few steps, her hands coming to her lips.  
  
"George, I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know what..."  
  
"You have no need to apologize, Rachel. The action taken was of my own volition." He straightened up, looking away from her and clearing his throat, her sudden retreat startling him. "If anything, perhaps I should apologize to you."  
  
She could feel her heart racing inside of her chest, and she could see his cheeks had colored and she assumed it was the same for him, the memory of his imprint still tingling on her thigh. She swallowed hard, blinking a few time before looking up at him.  
  
"There is no apology, for either of us, but we must be conscious of this, if we are to pursue a more, familiar, sense of companionship." She faltered, tripping over the words, a small, rational side of herself screaming at her, but she was often not tied to a rational sense.  
  
Especially when he was looking at her like that.  
  
"I am just very concerned...I would not want you to be dragged down in association with me, sir."  
  
"So now I am sir?"  
  
She softened, her shoulders sagging. "No, of course not...you will never just be sir, to me. You'll always be my George."  
  
"Your, George." He seemed to be holding himself in place, his hands balled into fists at his side. "May I see you again, then?"  
  
"By now, you surely know the sordid details of my past George. Even of my present. Why do you want to get wrapped up in such chaos?"  
  
"It's not chaos, Rachel." He defended. He reached a hand toward her, as if to caress her face and brush her hair back but pulled back at the last moment. "You are a lady in a difficult situation, it hardly condemns you."  
  
"You are idealistic."  
  
"I am taken by." He defended. This time his touch landed as he brushed a stray hair back with his much larger hand, resting his hand on her upper arm gently. "We shall settle now, as I do very much treasure the respite of your company, and in such a potentially public place but...may I...may I call on you, Rachel? I know it may seem improper..." He tripped over his words, and seemed to struggle with what he truly wanted to say. He did not want her to feel obligated, or pressured, but he wanted...he wanted to just see her. That was all he wanted.

He took a deep breath and continued. "Next weekend. Lawrence will be gone for a few nights for a business arrangement on one of the other islands. Perhaps..." He trailed off, not exactly sure what he was asking of her, knowing it would be completely improper to have her as a guest in their lodgings with just the two of them, but also not very much caring. She seemed uncertain herself, as he felt her eyes roving over his face. She brought a delicate hand to his cheek, ghosting over his jaw, letting it settle on his chest, flat palm over where his heart beat heavily at the moment.  
  
"Perhaps." She seemed to be holding back a grin. "For now, let us enjoy the sunset, hm? You can tell me of your Mount Vernon and I will regale you with something of myself you would like to know."  
  
"I would like to know everything," He breathed, following her as she spread out her skirts before sitting. He seemed not to care for the mess the sand would surely cause, and kept a somewhat respectable distance, despite what had transpired only moments before.  
  
"You start." She bumped against his arm, shifting just a bit closer, and he took the hint, moving his arm so it leaned behind her, and she leaned into his shoulder. "Tell me of the colonies."  
  
"Well," He sighed, looking off across he water, lifting an arm to draw it across the horizon as if to paint the picture. "Right now, a heavy frost will be covering the branches and all the greenery gone, but come April, the cherry blossoms bloom into the most beautiful sight you will ever see..."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm over at [tumblr](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com)
> 
> this is getting extended because it just works better as 5 chapters. the good news is I have like, 85% of it done, with just those not fun parts where you have to connect everything left. thank you to everyone who's reviewed and left kudos so far, I appreciate it! (and there may be some smut in the next chapter, which i'm a little uncertain of but it's written! so thoughts on that would be appreciated if so inclined :) )


	3. but i'd still choose you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks pass, George and Rachel grow closer, and Lawrence's eventual absence leaves them with an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there be smut.

The next few weeks for both Rachel and George seemed to pass with imperceptible speed.  
  
His brother was faring well, though the cough still lingered, and he still grew tired easily. The business affairs that would keep him from their lodging were deemed ill-timed, and was re-planned for later in the month, which disappointed George but also allowed for him to maintain some self-control. He knew she was nervous of their situation, knew that he had to remember this was not permanent, and that any sort of romantic dalliance could quickly turn to disaster.

It also meant, though, that instead of this potentially being a brief fling of passion, he was developing a deep affection for her, despite his good judgement. The closer he grew to her, however, the less he seemed to care.

Lawrence had established a fair amount of business with a nearby merchant, sugar cane and rum for bales of tobacco, and that was keeping him occupied. It was almost April now, and while George had begun to grasp some of the details of working out business for the homestead, he was content in the belief that it would never be his whole responsibility to run it. He loved the plantation, with it's sprawling lands and stables, but he could not imagine it without Lawrence.  
  
Outside of George's brief foray in family affairs, Lawrence noted out loud to him one evening that he barely ever even saw his brother anymore, the younger Washington now spending much of his time at the tavern house or out walking with the lady Lawrence had met more than once at this point. He watched his brother, witnessing a new energy he had never seen the younger man possess, one that he himself was familiar with and knew what to name it.  
  
It had become most obvious the week before his rescheduled trip, a venture that would keep Lawrence from their boarding for a few days, and he had taken note that the connection between the two individuals had been more than palpable.  
  
Having not had so much time to themselves for casual conversation, Lawrence had suggested a brief jaunt to enjoy the fresh air along the harbor when George was welcomed by the sight of Rachel walking towards them, her son's hand clasped tightly in her own as she guided him towards her home. He saw his brother's solemn expression soften, his face splitting into a gentle smile.  
  
"Mr. Washington." She stopped a few feet away from them, and nodded at Lawrence with a smile. The small boy at her side squirmed in impatience at the brief stop. "George."  
  
He watched his younger brother's face flush darker at the informality, noted how he shifted subtlety away from Lawrence, as if suddenly uncomfortable with his presence. It did not, however, drive the smile from his face, and he turned to face the lady more directly. "Ms. Faucette. How is your Wednesday faring?"  
  
"It is well, sir."  
  
"And how are you, Master James?"  
  
The little boy looked up at the brothers with wide eyes, as if he had just realized they were as tall as they were, and he pressed himself into his mother's skirts. The men chuckled.  
  
"If you'll excuse us, we must be going. It was good to see you both." She curtsied softly, and led the boy away, nodding her goodbyes as she drifted away.  
  
"Careful, brother." Lawrence muttered, his gaze sliding to his younger half as they strolled toward the square's tavern now, where Lawrence would insist on a drink. George shook his head with a soft huff, followed by a strange noise from the bottom of his throat.  
  
"Lawrence, you're absurd. Ms. Faucette and I are merely friends, she was perfectly pleasant to the both of us."  
  
"Her eyes didn't find my face once, George." He sighed. "I'm not saying you cannot do whatever it is you both do when you walk off together, I'm just saying to be careful."  
  
"Lawrence, I swear to you on my honor, nothing lewd has ever transpired between Rachel and myself." He stopped now, stepping in front of Lawrence to face him. "She has a child, for Gods sake."  
  
So they were going to do this, here, in a square where they could be interrupted at any moment. Lawrence sighed, rolling his eyes as he placed a comforting hand on his brother's arm.  
  
"With a man whose whereabouts are unknown, and a husband she fled from years ago." He replied in a hushed tone, drawing close. George's eyebrows arched into his forehead.  
  
"He was abusive."  
  
"I understand, George, I do not mean it as an insult." Lawrence shook his head at his brother's youthful tenacity. "The fact that you assumed I meant such a thing is evidence enough there is basis for some prudence. I do not forbid you anything, as I too was once a young man, but be discrete at least, and think before..."  
  
"Your insinuation has no base, brother, as it has never come to pass between myself and Rachel, and I have no plans for it to." He snapped, defensive, almost too offended for it to be false.  
  
"Passions of the heart rarely ever do follow plans, George." Lawrence insisted, pointedly. "Can you honestly tell me you have merely feelings of friendship toward the woman? As God's witness?"  
  
George leveled him with a glare at his brother's invocation of their Holy Father, but he said nothing. When that didn't seem to be about to change, Lawrence sighed with a hint of annoyance.  
  
"Just...please. Keep my words in your thoughts, at least promise me that?"  
  
George wanted to declare his brother's advice ludicrous and unnecessary  but honesty was imperative to George, and he could not, in good conscience, assure anything of the sort.

* * *

  
He couldn't truthfully admit that his brother's words didn't linger in his mind. While there had been a few women he had become enchanted with during his brief time serving his Majesty's service, none had quite captured his attentions as Rachel had. He had not lied to Lawrence in the square, not truly; while they had spent time alone, in close embrace, they had done nothing but exchange kisses in secret. He had, despite what his brother believed, been able to practice restraint.

An incredible task, he had found. There was something about the way she looked at him, with a three quarter's smile of mischief that made his blood quicken and his mind race with endless possibilities. She was so intelligent, quicker to turn a joke than he ever had been and an extensive mind, with literature and sonnets and science, that of which he had never even touched upon. She teased that there was not much else to occupy her on the island, outside of the care of her son, but there was a type of spark in her gaze that betrayed her inquisitive nature.  
  
George was as besotted as a schoolboy, and it burned him that Lawrence knew it.  
  
He had never been extensively educated, with his father dying so young and leaving him less time for formal education. His mother had been severe and he was so mindful of how he carried himself, so self conscious, but there was something about Rachel's easy demeanor that seemed to allow that to slip away in her presence and discover a side of himself he actually enjoyed existing as. There was no overthought to if how he was acting was the right way, of what he was supposed to be doing, but instead a freedom of spirit he had never quite felt before and he desired to experience her as much as he could while he was here on the island.  
  
The weekend trip he had so daringly mentioned was soon to be upon them, and so she had told her mother she would be working double shifts over the weekend to try and make extra money. The woman had happily obliged taking young James to their home on St. Kitts for an extended stay. Rachel had not lied, as she would be doing precisely as she had promised, but there had been a method to her madness, so at dusk, when a knock came at the door, he felt his neck grow warmer. They had not had the opportunity to be so alone with such assured privacy, and his entire body seemed to be aware of it.  
  
He opened the door to find her standing, shawl around her shoulders over a hunter green dress that laced up the bodice. She was significantly shorter than he, and so she looked up at him, eyes opened wide as her chest lifted with heavy breaths, and as he stood there with the door open.  
  
"Madam." He greeted, his voice low and gravelly, and he stepped to the side, letting her glide in. He shut the door behind her, taking a peek to see if anyone was watching in the street and he turned back to her. He felt himself pressed against the heavy door by her slight frame, felt her arms hook into his, bringing him into a quasi embrace.  
  
"George..." She breathed his name, arching up and pulling him down toward her mouth. He let himself crash against her lips, his hands finding her hair and letting it loose so it flowed down her back and he kissed her for a few moments before lifting her from the floor and carrying toward the back of the suite, to his bedroom, the restraint he had been so self-congratulatory of snapping like a twig.  
  
He laid her on his bed and she pushed herself toward the head of it, gasping while she rested back on her elbows as he began to remove his waistcoat and boots. He climbed in after her, holding himself up on his forearms as he pressed himself close to her.  
  
"George..."  
  
He lowered his head and nipped at her collarbone, at the crook of her neck, following it up to her earlobe before tracing her jaw with his lips and pulling back with a grin as he looked in her eyes.  
  
"I've been thinking about you all day."  
  
"And I you." She pushed him then, so he fell to side and onto his back and soon she had the higher ground, climbing atop of him and drawing a chuckle. She hiked up her skirts so they pooled over the two of them like more bed linens and reached for the ties of his breaches. He grabbed her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers.  
  
"Shhh, slow down. We have all night and I just...just let me look at you, Rachel."  
  
He let his hands rove under her skirts, placing a gentle grasp on her thighs and moving up slowly towards where her legs met her body. Her hips began to rock back and forth, and he moaned softly as she rubbed against him, but he soon found his target after he let himself just feel her and  began to rub with his thumb in circles, softly at first, a gentle touch which grew quicker and firmer. She cried out softly, arching upwards, her head tilting toward the ceiling as she gasped.  
  
"George..."  
  
He growled somewhere deep in his throat, grabbing her firmly under her thighs and flipping her again onto her back, eliciting an excited yelp as he slid down to the foot of the bed, diving under the layers of her skirts and pushing them up as he slid closer to her body. He allowed the fabric to lie over him like a sheet, and he allowed his hands to slide up and down her thighs, grasping the meaty flesh of her rear before sliding his hands up further until he could go no more. Delicately, he let his tongue find the most sensitive of areas between her legs and he exhaled softly, drawing a moan from between her other pair of lips.  
  
"I have been wanting to bed you properly for so long, my dear..." He murmured as he let his lips ghost against her, and he felt her hand hover over her skirts and manically hike them up so the top of his head was accessible once more. She ran her hand through his hair, pulling it into a fist to tug gently from the crown, eliciting a soft moan from him. He pressed his tongue against her, finding her clit and flitting against it, once, twice, pulling at it gently with his lips, before pushing his tongue deep in her once more. As he pulled back, returning the engorged nub, he brought his hand up between her legs and slid a curved finger within as he lapped at it once more.  
  
"sweet jesus, _george_..."  
  
He hadn't had too much experience with this, but he had spent a year or so with the soldiers trading bawdy stories and received unsolicited tips. There had been a few ladies, the first of which had led to disastrous experiences, but the last had been a widow in her early 30s who had merely requested the comfort of his presence and had taught him, apparently, very valuable skills.  
  
He repeated himself, changing up the pattern and the intensity of the motion of his tongue until he felt her thighs tighten around his head, her breathing get shorter and shorter as her body began to seize up and convulse, and, recalling cues from his past experiences, pulled back and sat up on his knees.  
  
He felt himself pressed tightly against his breeches, a slight stain at his arousal clearly apparent. Rachel glared at him, eyes fiery and alight.  
  
"What are you doing?" She demanded, breathlessly, sitting upright. He smiled softly at her irritation, and began to pull his tunic from his breeches, working at the buttons.  
  
He wiped at his mouth and crawled toward her "Like I said, we have all evening, my dear. And I want all of you. Every inch. Every moment, so that no matter how far apart we may eventually find ourselves, I will always have a part of you with me."  
  
She stared at him for a moment, studying him as if she didn't truly believe the words he was saying, but her expression then softened and she grabbed at his now open tunic, and pulled him down to her lips, kissing him hard.  
  
Pushing him back onto the pillows, she pulled back only to reach down to her bodice to begin to loosen her lacing before returning to the kiss, and playing with the laces of his breeches. She could feel the heat of him beneath the fabric, the way he was straining to be set free and once her work was accomplished, she hiked her skirts up to her waist and lowered herself onto him.  
  
George emitted a muted groan, and Rachel gasped, pressing her palms against his bare abdomen, digging her nails in gently as she began to rock in a circular motion, slowly at first as if riding with the motion of her horse and then increasing gradually. George's hands found the base of her back, digging his fingers in to the flesh there, and she breathed in quickly, leaning forward so her torso was flush with his, her breasts brushing against his own chest, mouth open just above his as he bucked beneath her.  
  
"Are you satisfied, sir?" She whispered, arching up as she lifted up off of him until there was the barest of contact before lowering back down and he closed his eyes against it, bringing one hand up to clasp her breast. One of her hands found it's way behind her to cup him from underneath and he felt himself draw tight, as the sensation seemed to build quicker and quicker.  
  
"You are exquisite." He breathed, his other hand breaking free of her ass and coming up to cup her face, fingers messily entangling with the hair that framed her face. "Rachel Faucette..."  
  
"George, I know you said...but I don't..."  
  
"I know."  
  
Spots flooded his vision, and he drew in a massive breath, his muscles going taut as he closed his eyes. Within seconds of him releasing, Rachel moaned deep within her chest, and pressed her nails into his so hard he felt he would bleed before she lowered herself gently forward to rest atop of him for a moment. He could feel her constrict around him, moving in waves that syncopated with her little moans and gasps, shivering as she relaxed against him. They stilled for a few moments in the silence, and he turned his head to place a kiss on her sweaty temple, smoothing her hair down her back before she rolled to the side and laid beside him, arms up over her head.  
  
"So much for all evening." She rasped with a chuckle, turning onto her side, throwing her arm over his chest.  
  
"Well if you'd give me a moment," He pushed himself onto his side with a grin to look at her better, despite his immediate exhaustion. "I will go get some refreshments shortly for us and maybe I can make good on that promise." He kissed her full on the mouth then, tucking her messy locks behind her ear with his free hand. She wound her arm around his head, brushing at the back of his neck so he shivered.  
  
"Did you ever think this would happen when you made your journey here?"  
  
"In all of wildest dreams, did I ever think I would meet the most enchanting woman I'd ever encountered? Of course not."  
  
She rolled her eyes with a laugh, and shook her head against the pillow. He took advantage of the moment, placing a kiss on her mouth as he pushed himself and walked over to a cabinet close to the bed, from where he pulled out a board with bread and cheese, and a bottle of his favorite Madeira, settling on her side of the bed and placing the board there. He quickly grabbed one glass from a side table and poured the wine before taking a sip, then handed her the glass. She sipped at it, looking up through her lashes at him.  
  
"How long will Lawrence be gone?" She asked finally, setting the glass back down. He climbed back over her, covering himself with the bed-sheet and grabbing a hunk of bread before taking a bite.  
  
"Hopefully forever."  
  
She shook her head with a soft laugh, reminiscent of the sound that had first caught his attention to her. She playfully pushed at his shoulder, curling in closer to him. "When will he really be back?"  
  
"In two days time."  
  
"And when must you leave? To go back to Virginia?"  
  
"Regrettably, at the most, in 6 weeks time. Sometime in May, I am unsure of the exact date. We have already been away far too long, and with his health having improved, I can already tell he is eager to be home." He turned his head to look at her, bringing his hand up into her messy brown waves. "So let us make the most of this time together, shall we? I wish to never be parted from you, if it were possible, but as it is probably not, let us do what we can to spend it together."  
  
She stared at him in something akin to awe, before she ducked her head and burrowed into his side, reaching an arm over his chest with a deep sigh. "We have the tavern, and the cove. I am sure we can meet at my home as well, perhaps."  
  
He laughed dryly. "I will find the time, my love."  
  
A beat. A breath.  
  
"Love?"  
  
He looked down at her from where his head lay on the pillow, one arm under her, his other grasping her own on his chest. His solemn expression returned before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  
  
"It may seem premature but yes. Love. My love."  
  
Though he had promised a night together, she found herself growing tired quickly; she had wondered if she would ever get to sleep next to him, and was reluctant to let the chance escape her. She pulled closer to him, pressing a kiss to his rib cage. "Please don't go."  
  
George seemed to be affected by weariness as well, despite his earlier insistence on a long evening, and was barely able to keep his own lids from fluttering closed. Barely discerning her words, truly unable to think clearly, he sighed softly, dipping his head so he nuzzled the top of hers, half asleep already. "I won't."  
  
They shouldn't have been making promises they couldn't keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come see me over at my [tumblr](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com). let me know what you think (this is the second time i've published my attempt at smut and i'm a little nervous about it, so if anyone has legit commentary on how to improve it, I'm 100% open to constructive criticism :) )


	4. but i always will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, very quick note.
> 
> this has not always been tagged with the Hamilton - Miranda tag, due to some uncertainty's I was still working out when I started posting this story. Those uncertainty's are also what led to the the 7 months of no update; now that i've worked that out, it is evident that this story, and the series it belongs to, draws almost completely from the musical characterizations so I added the tag. Just in case anyone has an issue with that, that's my disclaimer.

There is an intrigue, George would realize as the years passed and he looked back, to this sort of illicit relationship, a vigor that influenced the thoughts and actions of those involved, a passion that held them in a kind of stasis. They would sneak away at the tavern into the cellar and have some time to themselves among the barrels of ale, kissing and laughing, half drunk on each other, half drunk on the spirits. He would cup her face with his large hand, his thumb sliding circles over her cheek bone as he looked into her eyes, happy just to stare as he leaned her back against the stock, his hands at her hips as hers found his shoulders, and they could fantasize of what might be, even though in their hearts they truly knew it never could.  
  
He saw his brother less and less as this went on, and the weeks passed once more. Popping in and out of their shared space, in passing as Lawrence had business functions and he had other arrangements. They'd have dinner occasionally, and he did note, once or twice, a cough being expressed at one point or another but he supposed, in hindsight, he had been caught in a state of infatuation with something else that had clouded his perceptions.  
  
Perceptions which were shattered when he went to dump an almost overflowed waste can in their shared quarters and found a sodden handkerchief stuffed surreptitiously at the bottom of the basket, in an attempt to be hidden but jarred loose when the young man had stumbled.  
  
He waited in the dark for Lawrence to return later that afternoon, sending word to Rachel via Billy Lee that he would not be able to meet her during her shift as they had agreed. Lawrence hobbled in, hanging his light jacket on the post and clearing his throat a few times before taking a drink of water from a canteen that hung on their walls. George pounced on him.  
  
"How could you keep this from me?" George struck a match and lit a candle at the table before he rose from the armchair, incensed, the cloth gripped tightly in his hand. It was now nearing the beginning of May, the days having flown by in the company of his new friend, and the amiable weather.   
  
Lawrence stumbled back, surprised to have someone else in the dim room, and he seemed to squint in the candlelight that filled their space. When he saw the cloth in his brother's grasp, he sighed. "George..."  
  
"Do not George me! What is this??"  
  
"You know quite well what it is." He chastised softly. "Sit down and stop acting like a child. We will discuss this like grown men, or not at all."   
  
George glared at him in doubt, then seemed to deflate a little, as if giving into the demand. He folded in on himself, retreating to the armchair in front of the table where the now lit candle had begun to leak wax. Lawrence joined him in the adjacent, pulling out another cloth from his lapel and coughing softly into it and producing nothing, to George's relief. He swallowed hard.  
  
"How could you keep this from me?" He repeated, more weak and petulant than before, his arm flopping down onto the table, his grip releasing. The cloth fell there, a crimson splotch spread out as if an indictment for the world to see. Lawrence sighed once more.  
  
"It wasn't actively done." He replied, snatching the handkerchief from his brother's hold. "You have flourished here, George. You have Rachel and---"  
  
"Do not invoke my friendship with her as an excuse to be lying to me of your health."  
  
"I would do no such thing, I am so very glad of it, in fact. You would have motherhen'd me to death had you suspected it." He had the audacity to wink at his younger counterpart, an action that made George almost swallow his tongue in his agitation. "And what would honesty have done?" Lawrence asked gently. "You know as well as I do that this affliction is often unyielding and mortal."  
  
"You had been doing so well here for the past few months, you have gotten better..."  
  
"A brief respite, brother dear, but you know, you know, this affliction rarely will cease until it claims that which it had laid ownership of." He covered his brothers outstretched hand with his own. "George, I am dying."  
  
George would not meet his gaze. He sat at the table, staring at the worn surface, working the cloth in his hand. Lawrence watched him carefully, seeing his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard, hearing the harsh breaths through his nostrils. He snatched his hand out from under his brother's soft touch, looking toward the window at the front of dwelling.   
  
"George..." His brother prodded softly.   
  
"Lawrence, please." He finally turned his gaze onto him and all at once, felt again as he did in preadolescence when his father had passed, and Lawrence was all he'd had. He plead with his gaze. "I cannot do this on my own."  
  
"Of course you can." His brother patted George on the shoulder, smiling tightly. "You are smarter and much more capable than you give yourself credit for George, you've always let the lack of formal education make you feel otherwise. You are a good and honest man, and an exemplary soldier. You have all of the tools at your disposal to become a great man."   
  
"I barely even remember our father, Lawrence." His voice broke, and he dropped the eye line once more. "You are all that I've had."  
  
"You act as if I am on the doorstep right now, that I have no time," He spoke it jovially, trying to force the joke, ignoring the fact that the both of them would have known he probably only had a few weeks, or a month or so left. Had it been a simple cough, he'd have never hidden it; and if they were both to be honest, he had lost weight, he slept more and the race he played in arranging his business was because he knew, in all actuality, he was running out of time.   
  
George sobered. "I do not want you to die."  
  
Lawrence smiled sadly. "And you think I do? Mere mortals get no choice in the way we depart from this plane, only in the deeds we undertake in life to leave our mark. I have done what I can here to prepare you for success back home."  
  
George growled in frustration, rising to his feet, pressing his fists to his eyes. "I will not accept it! Your wife..."  
  
"Will need your help." He sighed, shaking his head. "It matters not if you do or don't. Either way, I think my time is imminent. I have been meaning to tell you, regretfully, that we will sail home in 2 weeks time." He sighed, a resigned, sad look finally finding it's way to his face. "I will be near my Anne in my last months."   
  
His head spun. He had expected much more time than that, a few more weeks at least! His thoughts drifted, of course, to Rachel and the time they had spent together and his chest tightened, knowing now there was a definitive end in sight. His brother was watching him closely, and seemed to interpret his melancholy silence as uncertainty and denial (of which it partly was).  
  
Lawrence sighed, searching for more words to assuage him. "You will find a wife. You have your mother..."  
  
George snorted, shaking his head, sliding a hand over his face. Lawrence knew the relationship with his mother was at best formally pleasant and respectful, and at worst, stifling and overtly critical. He looked over at him and saw Lawrence for what he really was, what he must have been descending into for the past few weeks-he was pale, and clammy. He looked tired, sallow, his cheeks becoming almost hollowed. How had he not seen it? Had he been so absent?  
  
He pushed himself up from the chair where he sat, shaking his head. He stalked over toward a desk and scrawled something on a paper and pocketed it.  
  
Lawrence sighed deeply. "Where are you going?"  
  
"For a walk."  
  
He grabbed his hat from where it hung near the door, wrapping a light cloak around his shoulders, without a look at his brother. Lawrence knew that he needed to let him have some time to himself. And he knew just where he would go.  
  
"Give Rachel my regards."  
  
George paused for only a moment, shoulders tensing as he appeared to consider a sharp retort, before he strode out of the door without a word, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

By now, their late afternoon retreats to the cove they so enjoyed had become more regular, a sojourn where the two young lovers found a respite. The had planned to meet briefly in the tavern's basement as she took her mid-afternoon meal, but his discovery had changed that. He had not told Billy anything else, and he'd hoped she wouldn't be too angry with him. He hoped she'd be here now.  
  
And even if she weren't, he could use the solitude.  
  
He found himself fidgeting with his hat as he curved around a patch of trees and went deeper in away from the sea as he made a decent trek to the most secluded spot within walking distance. The scene that greeted him from afar caused his breath to catch in his breast.  
  
Rachel sat on a linen sheet, her hair pinned atop her head, stray pieces blowing softly with the warm breeze. She had her eyes closed, and her head tilted back, breathing in the sea air. The sun had begun it's descent, oranges and purples and pinks painting the sky, and in an hour or so, it would disappear below the horizon completely to bring the night. It outlined her form as if tempting fate to disturb her.  
  
Ashamedly, for the briefest of moments, he came close to being grateful for his brother's illness.  
  
He tried to stay as quiet as possible as he drew closer, wandering thoughts bringing one of their trysts from earlier in the weeks before to mind; an early morning when she had lain wrapped in linen next to him in the comfort of a bed, unlikely to be disturbed.  
  
She had taken a hunk from an apple, speaking with a half full mouth. "You've no idea how lovely you have it! If I were a man," She'd said to him with a laugh, at some bit of story when he whined about business, "I'd be gone from this place by now, on a ship headed for a new land. I'd own my own business, at least." She had placed her finger on her lips as she chewed, in genuine consideration. "I think i'd be quite the merchant, myself." Her eyes flashed playfully. "Or maybe a pirate."  
  
"Like the grand, fearsome Blackbeard." He'd teased, running his hand through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "I would think you capable even today, my dear. I would tremble at the sight of you, I am sure."  
  
"But for what reason?"  
  
"For that other than fear." His voice was low and gruff, and they had fallen into the others embrace, the conversation forgotten.  
  
She seemed to sense his approach and she turned to face him from the beach, the realization pulling him from his day dream. She smiled at first, but upon seeing his expression, frowned.  
  
"George? Whatever is wrong?"  
  
 _Lawrence is dying._  
  
He didn't answer her straight away. He lowered himself down on the opposite side of her instead with a sigh. When he did not move to greet her with a kiss, her frown deepened. "George?"  
  
"We are leaving in two weeks time." He still wouldn't look at her. "Lawrence's illness has come back with a vengeance and he would like to be home..." He trailed off. His hands trembled.  
  
"Oh, George." She whispered, grabbing them with her own hands, a pained look on her face. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"It is the way of it." He said with a sniff, and a shake of his head. "I was hoping I would find you here."  
  
He shifted closer to her, and she arranged herself to sit in front of him and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She retook one of his hands and squeezed, settling it on his lap. "I'm glad that you came."  
  
"I'm...I'm just not quite sure what to do." He admitted, looking down at the grasp. "There is so much I cannot know. His wife will be widowed, and I suppose I will help her a bit in the wake of his passing, but I anticipate there being action with the French shortly and I am just..." He shook his head. "I wish I could stay here on the island a bit longer. With you."  
  
"We will have to make the most of our time left together then." She said quietly. "But we will both need to prepare to live the rest of our lives with the hand we've been dealt. We both knew you'd have to return to Virginia at sometime."  
  
"Will you allow me to write to you?" He looked down at her, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as it danced in the wind. She studied him for a moment, as if she were thinking on it, and ducked her head before answering.  
  
"Do you think that the best idea, George?" She asked hesitantly. He looked down at her as she said it, confused by the sentiment. Why would it not be alright to write? At the very least! And yet now she was looking up at him, a sense of sorrow in the way she looked at him. Even a bit like someone who was speaking about something the other knew nothing about. He pushed forward.  
  
"I don't see why not. You are, at the very least, someone so very dear to my heart. I do not know why we cannot still find solace in a friendship with each other."  
  
"You are going to go home and focus on your military career and I will have young James. If I am to ever find another, if you are to find a wife, staying tied to this will only hold that back, don't you understand?"  
  
He frowned softly, and lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a dry kiss to the heel of her hand. "I understand that the world is a large, uncertain place. I know the chance we will meet again is small. And I understand that neither of those things necessarily means we cannot still be friends."  
  
"George, I have...these past few months have been a wonderful surprise. And we've been able to pretend for a short time, but our places in the world will not allow for long term indulgence of such whims. When you leave, I will yet again be on my own and having to provide for my son. I just don't want either of us to cling to something that isn't real."  
  
He couldn't hide the hurt from his face, the audacity of the statement. Was this not real for her? Did she not truly feel tenderly for him? Was it so easy for her, to just never speak to him again? "It is _real_ to me. The love I have for you is real, Rachel."  
  
"George, of course it is. Of course..." She sat up a little more and turned closer to him, resting a palm on his leg as she leaned in. "I'm just not sure that trying to maintain it would be helpful. You will become a great General," It was a playful tease, because she truly believed he would achieve such things, and she tried for levity with a gentle smile, "Who will marry a great lady. And I will do my best to raise a good man, and we will all be the better for it."  
  
"Please do not deny me this, not with the loss I'm about to endure." He whispered. "What harm is there in mere letters? I cannot bear the thought of never sharing thoughts with you again. Please indulge me, just a little."  
  
It was unfair of him, she thought, to invoke his brother's illness. He knew the things she'd endured, known about her first marriage, and her child, and he knew that she had known love that had burned, understood that she knew how difficult it could be to extricate oneself from it's clutch if not by completely severing the bond; but the alternative was to never know him again after they left. To forget him. And while Rachel knew their futures were destined to be separate, she couldn't seem to settle on the thought that they would be consigned to the others past, alone.  
  
And then there was the way he was looking at her...  
  
She sighed. "We can try. Very well, then" She said softly. "I would miss you too much as well."  
  
With the matter settled for the moment, he seemed to relax a bit and fall into himself, and she moved so that she lay in front of him, lounging back against his chest, his knees raised on either side of her as she pulled his arm to rest on her own. She traced indecipherable designs on his hands with a feather light touch as they both stared off at the sinking horizon. George pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and let himself rest there for a moment.   
  
"Alright then. What do we do now?" He asked softly.  
  
She didn't answer straight away. She lifted one of his hands to her lips and reciprocated his gesture from minutes before, before placing the hand over the middle of her chest and holding it there. She took a shuttering breath, and with a wobbly voice told him: "We enjoy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that last line is 100% hijacked from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, because I like the sentiment, but I want to make sure to give credit.


	5. December 1758

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been four years, when business brings George back to the Caribbean.

George Washington strode onto the Nevis Pier with his cloak over his shoulders, pausing to take inthe famiar site. It had been 4 years past since he'd been here last, but had now returned to settle long neglected business dealings entered into by his elder brother years before. The conflict back home had taken so much of his time, and partnerships that had once seemed advantageous and prosperous had proved not so much. Between that, his impending nuptials and having to actually help his sister-in-law run his childhood homestead, maintaining these contracts had become somewhat of a pain.

So much had transpired since he was here last, his life so very changed, and so swiftly. Lawrence had passed quicker than he had been prepared to deal with, especially when he himself fell ill with the pox around the same time, and the fallout had been near disastrous. His brother's affairs had not been as well kept as he would've hoped, a key reason this visit had been put off for so long, and his own rise in the service had been quick. The Braddock disaster of the summer of '55 had changed him forever, and he could still hear the screams of dying men in his dreams, haunted by his commander’s indecision when listening to his advice. He could not know it now, but it would influence him in his future to be as prudent and pragmatic as possible when making decisions with his military.

He was not the same man he'd been when he'd left. He had a lady now back home awaiting him, an ideal match of a woman. His late brother's wife had tried to manage the estate herself, but was having a hard go of it, between battling illness herself and mourning the loss of her children and her husband. While he helped maintain the home, he did not own it, nor any other land, so the widowed Martha Custis was a perfect match for the role he would need to step into. His thoughts briefly settled on Sally Fairfax, a taken lady for whom his heart raced, but he had brushed it aside; he was friends with her husband and, as he'd learned long ago on this piece of land, it was best not to let those types of affections rest with something that could never be.

He felt his gaze beginning to wander as his slaves transferred his belongings to a carriage, and it landed on a small tavern in the distance, a sort of squirmy feeling settling in his gut.

He wouldn't seek her out. For all he knew, she had vacated the island with her child and his father, returned to St. Kitts, or gone to the colonies. He was no longer in love with her; they had maintained a brief correspondence of a few months before one letter went unanswered, and then two, and then he'd sent a final, brief farewell note, acquiescing her disinterest in continuing a friendship and wishing her well.

But Rachel had showed him how to love well, and how to be loved. It would be difficult to ever love someone else without thinking of her and the affect she'd had on him. She would forever hold that place within his heart for showing him how feel like that. A part of himself from his youth longed for Rachel at times to return to such an innocent place but it was nothing that could last.

He would not seek her out, he repeated to himself. There was nothing to gain from it.

* * *

The wedding was to take place shortly after the arrival of the new year, so George had approximately two and a half weeks, give or take, to contact the individuals from Lawrence's ledgers, establish meetings and settle on the terms of their agreements. He was not concerned about finance, or terms of debts that may need to be addressed; he was mostly focused on ensuring the ties were severed and agreements were made before he was joined with Martha, whose assets could then be included in any future negotiations.

He took care of those one or two landowners who were of the greatest distance away, spending most of his first week traveling outside of Nevis and St. Kitts to reconcile what was left of the dealings, until he had only one remaining outsids of the main island. Somewhat bolstered by what he felt was a reasonable success, he found himself back in Nevis to settle the remaining few with a week left before he could arrive home before the holidays.

He smiled at that thought, of Christmas in a short period of time, that although they were not yet joined together, he and Anne would be spending it with Martha and her family. He'd found himself quite taken with the two children that remained from her first marriage, the poor things too young to remember their natural father, and so he had readily accepted the role he would no doubt be stepping into.

It was on one morning's walk, his thoughts with Martha and the children as he headed back to his dwelling for breakfast, that he found himself in a near collision with two younger boys, squabbling near some cargo and rope, the smaller one's face alit with a mischievous grin as he dodged the older one, who scowled and chased. He found himself watching them as he strolled by, slowing in his pace, amused at the scene. He thought of Lawrence, glad that the deep pang at such memories had become something more like nostalgic longing. He had to chuckle-how he had aggravated him so, on purpose, for his own amusement! In that, he found himself siding with the younger child, who continued to wriggle away from the older boy at every turn.

The older boy appeared to at last lose his patience, and squared off, hands on his hips as he jutted out his chin. "Alexander, Mother expected us back already! I will never take you to the beach in the morning again if you do not come, right now!"

George stifled a chuckle and almost passed without another glance, his gaze finding the two briefly. He quickly realized that something else had pulled him to pay attention to their interaction in the first place. His heart began to race.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke. "James? James Hamilton?"

His tone must have been sharp, for they both seemed alarmed, and James froze in place while the younger one raced now to squat behind his brother as if to hide. James quickly gathered himself upright, pulling the child tightly to his side, wide eyes never leaving George's face. "Sir?"

_He doesn't know me,_ George realized, although the boy stared at him as if he felt like he should. Recognizing their apprehension, he held his hands up to show he meant them no harm and stopped in his tracks.

"I...never mind, boys. Hurry along. You wouldn't want to keep your mother waiting." He took a breath, reminding himself that he had other things to attend to, and tried to pull himself from staring at the younger boy, whose expression had changed from one of fear to cautious curiosity.

"You should mind your brother." He directed at the toddler. The little boy's grip on his brothers shirt grew tighter, as did James', but he still shot a half grateful, half irritated look at the man.

"Let's go, Alexander."

He watched them retreat, turning as they were close to Rachel's block, and it was only when he arrived at his client’s office that he noted something that was nagging at the back of his brain.

The boy had looked to be a little younger than Lawrence's little girl had been when she had passed, God rest her soul. And that had been about 4. Four could mean...he shook his head, laughter borne of absurdity coming from deep in his chest. There was no chance that were true-if at all, Rachel would've written him about it, would have told him, would have given him the chance...

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. It could not be.

Could it?

* * *

 

As his schedule solidified, he found himself with time for his own leisure between appointments and soon began rising earlier than usual, and taking a walk down by the pier, a nagging feeling pushing him out the door driven by a desire for another glance at the boy. His curiosity was insatiable, and he began to visit stores and clerks he'd never before visited, and had no need of. On his last day before he would have to go overnight to finalize with one plantation owner in Charleston, a week before his departure back home, he entered a shop and found what he was searching for.

The younger boy was there, sitting on a counter with what looked to be a toy horse carved crudely out of wood. He galloped it across the surface of where he sat, one leg hitched up so his foot rested there and made noises as he moved it across, making it rear back and neighing with it.

The door banged shut behind him, hitting a bell that hung above it and the boy dropped the horse to the surface and started, so much so that George feared he may fall but he never did. He spun, looking at him with wide dark eyes and then at the curtain behind the counter that looked to lead to the back of the shop. 

"Maman!"

He hopped off the counter and ran toward it as Rachel emerged from the doorway, carrying a stack of what looked to be ledgers, looking down with soft smile as the little boy ran to her, clinging to her skirts and burying his face in them. She shifted the stack, freeing up her hand to find his black hair and card her fingers into it, pressing her to him as she slid the books onto another surface. She knelt down, framing his face.

"Mon petit, qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

The boy pulled himself away, his expression fierce and indignant now that his mother was by his side and he pointed accusingly at the man he only knew as the one who had startled he and his brother a few days before. She looked up with a smile, obviously expecting a normal customer, but appeared to drain of all color as she took in George standing there awkwardly, hat in hand. She rose slowly, blinking a few times, and pushing the boy behind her.

"Alexander, go in the back with your brother while he studies."

"But, maman..."

"Alexander. Go."

He shot the man one last dark look before following her directions. Rachel smoothed her skirt and looked up at George, walking forward as she took a deep breath and raised her head.

"George. I was wondering if i'd see you this week."

His eyebrows rose. "You were aware I was on the island?"

"I'd heard from a few of the boys who work on the docks." She relaxed, folding her arms in front of her. "You look as if you've done well for yourself."

He had. He was now an officer in the Army, although getting to that point had been nearly calamitous. He looked around the store and made a sweeping gesture with the hand that held his hat. "As do you. And no longer a tavern, either."

She nodded with a smile. "Yes. Yes, quite a few things have changed since I saw you last." She cast her eyes downward as she said it.

"I noticed." He began softly. "Rachel..."

"Not here. I don't want to talk about it here." She interrupted him, and moved closer to whisper. He towered above her, taking in her wan, tired expression that had tightened as she moved closer. What had she to be so concerned with, he wondered? He peered behind her toward the back room, where the little boy- _Alexander_ -was peeking through the curtain that hung in the doorway.

"Alright then. Do you still take your walks at the end of the day?"

She looked up at him warily. “On occasion. I would need to make sure the boys are in bed but...I suppose I could…”

He returned his hat to his head, nodding. "Well, then. I'll be at the cove later. Maybe I shall see you." He looked over her shoulder with a grin. "And you, young sir, have a good day."

"Alexander! I thought I told you...." She spun on her heel and he took the moment to leave, letting the door fall behind him as the sunshine made him wince, Rachel's yell at her youngest echoing behind him.

 

* * *

He had not brought a blanket to rest on. He’d realized he was probably too early when he’d arrived, and spent the time pacing the sand as the tide drew further back. He had not, however, expected it to be this long.

Perhaps this was a decision errantly made, he wondered. The sun had all but set and the air had taken on a balmy, weightless quality that made it comfortable without a jacket. He stood staring out at the expanse of the sea, where the not quite full moon hung high to throw what little light George needed.

Perhaps she would not show. Perhaps she had told him what he'd wanted to hear and she would avoid him for his remaining time here. Perhaps he was being ridiculous; she had mentioned a husband, so surely she remarried shortly after he'd gone, and from there came a son. Theirs had only been a mere fling, nothing more than heightened passions colliding with the opportunity...

A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I'm sorry I'm late. The boys were being difficult as I put them to bed."

He turned to find her adjusting the shawl around her shoulders, pulling it up to cover herself further. A small lantern hung by her fingers. He smiled. "That's alright. It's a comfortable night."

"Our winters tend to be." She offered, and an unspoken _as you may remember_ seemed to hang there. She pressed on. "I apologize, if I was rude earlier. It's busy with the end of the year approaching, and I have so much to go over for the merchants..." She ducked her head with a shake of it, then shrugged. "It is good, though, to see you again. George."

The lantern threw enough light to cast shadows on her face, and he could see the way her gaze locked with his own in a very determined way. Though she wore a tight smile to match his own, he could see the way her shoulders were set back and tight, and noticed how her fingers curled tightly around whatever was closest to them. Though her words may have been easy, she seemed anxious is a way that began to unnerve him and he shifted to face her fully, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I apologize if this was difficult to arrange. I...appreciate you, agreeing to see me.”

She maintained her posture, but her lips twisted a bit and she sighed. “Of course I would see you, George. I’ve missed our talks.” She took a deep breath as she searched for her next words, and when she spoke again, her voice pitched higher. “Have you been well?”

Had he? Her letters had stopped before the year had run out, but she’d known of Lawrence's passing and of his own bout with the pox. She did not know of his service though; did not know how he had risen, did not know how he’d gotten hundred of men killed, did not know how it had changed him. His smile tightened as he decided to focus on the better of the situations and he made a movement as if to shrug.

“As well as I could be, considering. And yourself?”

“Likewise. As i’m sure you’ve noticed.” She smiled at him. “I hear from the men on the dock you are to be married soon.”

He startled softly at the unexpected mention of his impending nuptials, and made a note to bring up the gossip to the foreman when he had the chance. While it wasn't a secret, it led him to wonder how she had come about the information. Had she been asking about him? Or had one of the men sought her out? Had their dalliance been so notable to stick in the minds of the community? And if they'd told her this, what else had been spoken about?

But Rachel’s calm expression was not a cover for malice, and so he knew it was only the an effort to make polite conversation. “I am,” He answered. “She is a lovely woman.”

“As you deserve. My James treats me well as well.”

_James_. That set him more at ease. So that was the whole of it. He suddenly felt almost foolish, because of course he had drawn the wrong conclusion, of course it was indeed James, and they'd picked right back up wherever they'd left off. He had just assumed the little one's age incorrectly.

_Yet_...she had not mentioned James in any of their letters, briefly exchanged as they were. And George felt the strangest inkling that he'd not had the boys age that far off. And if he didn't ask, he would always wonder.

“Are we going to continue with simple pleasantries, or are you going to make me ask you straight away?”

She appeared to reclaim her firm bearing; if she’d relaxed in his presence at all, it was now undone. “James is his father.”

Relief flooded through him with an intensity that surprised him. Of course he was! Of course, he had never been one for ambiguity, so he had to ask once the possibility had come to him, but to have it refuted made him realize how concerned he had truly been.

He huffed out a laugh, wiping at his mouth with one hand, rubbing at his bare head with the other. “Oh thank goodness! I thought i’d left you alone with child, I would have never…”

But Rachel wasn’t laughing. No, if anything her expression had become drawn, and though her stance remained resolute, the lantern had begun to sway as her hand gently trembled. She looked off to her side to the moon where it hung in the sky. For George, unease replaced any sense of solace.

“Rachel?” He spoke softly, uncertainly. He saw her nibble at her lip, saw her swallow.

“I had missed my monthly in April, but that doesn’t always mean anything. By the time i'd missed it in May, you and Lawrence had been gone 2 weeks and James had just returned.” She looked back to him, as determined as ever. “For all they know and for all that matters, James is his father.”

It was suddenly as if he were falling. His mind swam, completely untethered. “He is mine?”

“Not in the way that is important.”

“It is important to me!” He clenched his fist and fought to keep himself in place. It wouldn’t do well to lose his temper right now. “Why did you not write to me?!”

“Children are lost often. When he was born and survived, he was James’ son and to write to you would have...I never expected that you would come back." She set the lantern on the ground and wrapped her hands in her skirts with a look. "And even had I written, what was to have been done, George?”

“You should have at least given me the opportunity.”

"The opportunity for what?” her brows shot up audaciously, and she twisted a foot in the sand. “I wrote a few letters but they all went into the fire. Because I did not know how you would react. Because I could not risk it with James. And because there is no place in your world for me, and you are not taking my child from me.”

He drew back in defense at the implication. “I would never…”

“And so what would it have mattered except to produce more heartache?”

“Don’t pretend this was to spare me.”

“It wasn’t. It was to spare him. Alexander is a baby. He doesn’t understand, but you can.” She walked closer to him, and George stepped back at the approach. “I knew your heart once. I knew you would have had to do something. And I knew that could mean the end of my family. And i made a decision.” She looked up at him, resolute. “I’m not sorry.”

It was crushing to hear it. It must’ve shown on his face because her expression fell. “Please try and understand. Please.”

Perhaps he would one day, when he had his own children. Or even after a nights rest. But for now, the sting of a betrayal was too harsh and he shook his head and backed further away. “I understand that you did what you thought best but without consideration for how you may be wrong.”

“James is a good father..."

“To my son.” He hissed, interrupting her with a sharp look before turning away to face the water while his mind raced. Rachel cautiously watched him as he worked through what she had just told him.

George was much more powerful now than he’d been as a younger man, though she may not have known to what extent, and there was a part of her that worried for what he may do if she were not able to make him see this her way. He may have acted as if taking the boy by force was unheard of but she’d been separated from her child before. The thought of her Peter was never far gone from her mind. The idea of Alexander disappearing into the horizon, or herself being wrenched away from James was almost too much for her to consider.

“I will be staying overnight in Charleston for a meeting tomorrow,” he finally spoke, slowly. “I can understand why you thought this was the only thing to do, even if i may not agree. And I respect you, as his mother.” He looked back at her. “May I come in, when I return, and see him? I will only be here for a few days after and if I am to never see him again, I would like to have what little time there is not be wasted.”

She tried not to feel too relieved; she supposed that would probably not happen until after he left, with both her boys still at her side. “I think that would be alright. As I said, their father is out of town on business for at least another week, maybe 2. I don't see any reason why you should not be able to visit.”

Silence fell once more, and George began to nod, pleased enough with her answer. His expression twisted, unsure if the thing he wanted to say was the right thing to say; he could probably just wait until once he was back, but then again, it didn’t all that unreasonable. “What is he like?”

She couldn't keep her expression from softening. She lowered her arms so one hand hooked around the other as she straightened it at her side. “He’s a sweet boy. He likes to play with James. They bicker as well, but they are boys. And he’s so bright---would you know, he knows how to write his name and he knows all his numbers. He will turn 4 next month.”

George coughed out a laugh, shaking his head softly in wonder. "That's...truly wonderful to hear. He certainly seems like a very...spirited, child."

She forced herself to not turn away, forced herself to watch him wrestle with what _was_ rather than what he wanted it to be, and it was too much like it had been before. When he finally looked back up at her, whatever anger may have been on his face melted away, and his brows furrowed. 

"Oh Rachel..." He whispered.

"This is not the way I would have chosen this to be. Ideally..." She sniffed, blinking quickly. He walked closer and took her hand. "I'm just doing what I think is best for my boys."

"I know."

He’d meant it to be kind, but her face kind of twisted as if she were sorry for it to be true. And in that moment he saw something else that he wasnt sure he liked. She _was_ tired. And she looked…far away. She looked back up at him and he couldnt help himself---he brushed at a stray hair, tucking it behind her ear.

“It must have been so hard. To manage this yourself.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sway with the night breeze off the water. he watched her quietly, and she didn't shed a tear, or make a sound, but slowly leaned into him, silently closing the gap, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding up her weight and letting her rest, his lips brushing at the crown of her head.

They stayed that way for awhile, the only sound the lapping of the water on the sand, enjoying the solace of only the other, for the little bit of time they had before they would have to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was suppposed to...not be this long. I got carried away :O and basically split the chapter. I have a few more paragraphs and the last bit will be up shortly, and then I can start posting the rest of the series, which --spoiler alert--will pick up circa 1776.


	6. December 1758

He arrived back from Charleston that Saturday morning and set himself first about cleaning up and getting some food. With less than a week left until he set sail for Virginia, he still had two merchants to settle business with and of course, the not so very small matter of getting to know his son for the brief amount of time he would be allotted.

His day trip had been good in that it gave him quite a bit of time to think, outside of settling the terms of the plantations business. On the ride there and back, and in the solace of his room for the night, he had turned Rachel’s assertions over and over in his head, looking for some feasible way around them, searching for a middle ground that would allow him some part in the child’s life, or at least the opportunity to know him, if even at a distance, and each and every time found it to be failing in reason toward everything Rachel had laid out.

He could plan to visit a few times a year—the cost was of no concern to him, and the journey wasn't so dreadful as to keep him away from such a thing. But then he’d remembered the gossips at the wharf, and the fact that a man once known to fancy a woman hanging about and doting on her young boy could make tongues waggle all the more, and potentially interfere with the already established family—the only one Alexander knew.

Not to mention his service. Though war time had broken, he’d been elected as a member of the Virginian legislature, and if that wasn’t enough, he could surely be called to service again if it were needed. It would be irresponsible to risk the stability of the life Alexander had to indulge his own feelings.

Alexander had a father. A good one, by Rachel's own assertion, and though he knew what it was to be blinded by affection, he believed her to be too sensible to allow it to risk her child’s well being. To insert himself when he could not be ever present, or a true paternal figure to the boy as he himself wanted, only seemed to end in heartache and confusion.

So despite his ruminations and his planning and his own deep personal desire, he found himself with no other choice but to stick to his words from their meeting at the cove. He would ask for letters; he would ask if she would allow monetary assistance; he would ask that, if for any reason their current circumstance was to change, for her to inform him accordingly. As he came to these points and committed them to memory, he believed them to be the most reasonable way to handle the situation, and had little doubt Rachel would agree.

Upon his return to Nevis, after he’d washed up and changed, he dressed in his waistcoat and jacket and grabbed his hat, and he made his way to the clerk's station that he now knew to be run by Rachel and her boys. He stopped outside the door, settling himself, looking down at his feet as he took in a breath, and he pulled at the door.

There was a man at the counter filling out something in a ledger as Rachel watched, so he let the door fall behind him, jingling the bell as it had earlier in the week. She looked up briefly and when she saw him, offered a soft smile and a gentle nod to indicate she would talk to him once her present business was settled.

He allowed his eyes to wander, then, as he waited. The shop walls were adorned with shelves upon which various knickknacks sat, and small framed, simple pictures. In the corner behind where the front counter stood, almost out of eyesight, he saw a smattering of coal pencils, spare pieces of parchments and few small toys that he assumed belonged to the boys.

He stepped out of the way as the merchant she was waiting on turned to leave, tipping his hat with a nod to George, which he politely returned. When the door closed, again with the jangle of a bell, there was only quiet.

“I…hope it’s alright, for me to visit. I returned this morning from my trip and was hoping i could have your ear once more.” He broke the silence, and simply nodded and went to the side of the counter to push the swinging door to the side, beckoning him to follow.

“The boys are out at the docks, but they should be back soon. James is such a sweetheart to take Alexander so often, but they both just love to see everything that goes on down there.” She led him toward the back, which was larger than he’d anticipated. It was a whole other room, in fact, with a small hearth over which a kettle of tea appeared to brew. She motioned for him to sit on a chair in the corner and went about the act of setting out for some tea and once it was done, joined him.

“I remember seeing them on Tuesday. The little one seemed like quite a handful, but James was very good with him.”

She smiled fondly. “They fight like alley cats sometimes, but they love each other very much.” Once she set her cup down, she relaxed back, crossing her legs and arms in front of her and looked at him. “Which is all the more reason I hope you've not found yourself opposed to our agreement from the other night now that you've had time to think on it.” His surprise must’ve shown because she chuckled fondly. “You've not changed so much, I expect.”

He laughed as well. “I’ve not, to be true. I…” he sipped at his own tea. “As unpalatable as I may find it, after much deliberation, I’ve come to the same conclusions as you have, in regards to what is best not only for the boy, but our respective families as a whole. And as much as it may pain me to do…” He paused with a frown. “I understand that he already has a father, whom he loves, and a mother who loves him very much, and would never do anything to harm him. If this is what you believe is best, then so it shall be.”

He wondered if it were truly the shine of tears in her eyes at his words, or just a hope he held in his heart for them. She watched him quietly for a few moments digesting his words, and lifted her own cup again to drink from it.

“Then you have found out for the first time what it is to be a good parent.” She said, and set the cup down only to rest her hand over his on the table between them and squeezed it. “Thank you, George. You will be an excellent father one day.”

The pain of it though; he wondered if she saw him flinch.

“Can I…I will be departing for Virginia a week from today. If it is not too much of imposition, I would like to visit a bit, with the boy. Just to…spend some time, with him. Perhaps you can write to me once i leave, of his well being? Allow me to help monetarily, perhaps with his schooling?”

She looked to be working out how to respond. “I...don't think that will be necessary. He is taken care of here. And explaining the money may eventually be troublesome.” She hurried to follow it up as his disappointment surely set in. "But, I see nothing wrong with you visiting, and maintaining some contact. We are, after all, old friends.” She folded her hands, squeezing her fingers. “I hope you don't believe me heartless for this, George. If there is anyway for me to make this easier for you, then I would like to try.”

“I would be in your debt for it. I have one last request then, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“If at ever a time the circumstances change, if for some reason you find yourself absent of his father or yourself in a dire strait, please promise you will contact me? Please promise you will allow us to revisit this?”

She appeared to consider it. He wanted it to be clearly understood that he was not just abandoning his responsibilities without careful consideration. He wanted it to be clear that if at anytime he would be needed, that he would be there.

“I will…if it is absolutely needed. And if it is appropriate.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. It sounded tentative, as if she may change her mind about it at any time. But aside from employing someone to spy on them (an unseemly and unbecoming act, to be sure) he was uncertain of how he could go about it any other way, and so he supposed it best to accept it for now, and if he suspected there may be a need, to readdress it later.

They were drawn from a tense silence by the ringing of the door and shouts of two young children spilling into the front room. The pace of George’s heart picked up in his chest, and Rachel stood to her feet as they heard the door at the counter creak and saw the two slide into the room.

And slide they did. As soon as they realized they were not alone in the room, both boys planted their feet where they stood, no matter if their upper body kept in motion, and they nearly toppled over each other and into their mother. She looked down at them with the hint of a scolding, for she’d told them time and time again never to run in the shop, but their attention wasn't on her; it was on the man sitting across the room who they knew only as the stranger who had startled them so many days before.

Alexander immediately shrunk behind his brother, and James stood in front of him, as if to shield his younger brother from a danger. Neither said a word; James merely looked up at his mother curiously, then at George before turning his head up to her on last time. She smiled gently, deciding to chide them for their behavior after their guest had left. She knelt down, shuffling her skirts to make room.

“James. This is mother’s friend Mr. Washington.” She smiled over at George, “Or. I suppose Colonel Washington is more appropriate. He is an officer in the British army. Do you remember him? He and his brother visited us when you were very little.”

James looked back at him now, expression twisted in thought as he tried to place him. George leaned forward where he sat. James looked back his mother with caution and she sighed.

“Oh come now, you remember. He used to sneak you sweets, when he thought i wasn’t looking?”

George’s neck warmed at the statement, and Rachel shot him a teasing look and a wink. He hadn't thought she'd been completely ignorant it, but he had not expected her to remember; he himself barely did! But it seemed to work—the older boy's eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly in recognition.

“Sweets?” Alexander’s head popped out from behind his brother then, peering at the man he’d been so wary of only seconds ago.

He held back a laugh at the sight, and made a note to stop by the general store some time that afternoon to see what he could find.

“You’re a soldier?” James asked softly.

“I am.”

“Have you ever shot someone?”

Rachel grabbed at her son’s wrist, her face aghast. “James!”

But George didn't mind it; in fact, he chuckled, then leaned closer as he waved a hand softly in her direction. “It's alright, Rachel, he's only curious." He turned his attention to the child. "I have. But only if I needed to.”

Apparently satisfied with the answer, he turned back to face his mother, expectant of further explanation of their visitor. She smoothed the hair back from James' face. “Colonel Washington is only here for a few more days, but he thought he may have startled you the other day and wanted to come by and apologize and see how you both were. Isn't that nice of him, boys?”

Alexander by this point had slid out from behind his brother to stand on the other side of where Rachel knelt, clinging to her skirt but watching him with wide eyes, appearing cautiously interested.

Rachel looked to George now, and beckoned him with a soft throw of her head. He rose slowly, as if approaching a skittish farm cat, and gently made his way toward the three of them, settling down into a crouch as well. Rachel rose then, standing behind the boys as she pressed them forward.

“Boys. Shake Colonel Washington’s hand now.”

Her voice trembled a little as she said it, and when he looked upward to her, her smile seemed a tad bit watery. He looked back down, and faced James first.

“Master James. You've grown quite so since I saw you last.”

The boy stuck out his hand and George took it, and promptly declared the boy stronger than any man he’d served with, to which the boy beamed.

And so now it was Alexander's turn.

He shifted on his haunch to face the smaller boy, slow so not to startle him. The child didn't wince, but also did not relinquish the grip he had on his mother's clothes. He stared at George a little more openly now, and without as much malice as his glare had set upon him when he'd come to the store the first time. No, now the boy seemed genuinely curious. He looked up at his mother, who nodded in encouragement, and then he stepped softly two paces toward George.

"Hello, little sir," George started gently, a soft grin on his face. He held out his hand for a shake, and when Alexander took it, feigned a wince. "Oh, a strong grip! Fierce man, you are. Like your big brother."

The child beamed.

"And what is your name, sir?"

"Alexander." The boy spoke very deliberately, as if he was determined to get all of the syllables right. "Alexander Hamilton, sir."

He had known, of course, that the boy's name was Alexander Hamilton. He'd expected it, even mused on it quietly in his mind. Turned it over and over in fact, until he was sure even God could not strike its existence from his memory. And yet hearing it from the boy still wounded him in a way he would not have expected, and he found himself steadying his place on the floor with his hand.

"It's a good, strong name." He said softly, but he made sure to smile so the boy couldn't tell that he was bothered by it. "And are you a good boy, Alexander? Do you listen to your mama?"

He nodded furiously. "Yessir, I always do. Even at bath time."

He couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, his heart pained at the moment, because from the mouth of babes comes wisdom and there would be so little he would get to hear from this one, one he'd expect would have much to say. "Well, bath time is very important to civilized society, son. You're good to do so." He tipped his head up to see what Rachel was thinking, and saw that she was watching the interaction with what he could only think was a sad smile. Her fingers curled into the little boy's long, dark locks as he met her gaze and he could see her swallow hard.

He pushed himself up from the floor with a sigh, folding his arms behind him at the base of his back. "Mrs. Hamilton, your sons appear to be the most honorable of young men. I may be needing to leave soon, but if it doesn't bother you too much, I would like to come visit a few more times before I go. Would that be alright with you and your boys?"

"I would be happy to have you come by. James? Alexander?"

They were craning their heads back now, appearing to be a little bit in awe of how he towered above them. Once they had stopped gaping at him, James' face screwed in thought and he looked at George a bit sideways.

"Are you going to have sweets with you?"

Rachel nudged him sharply, hissing his name as a warning for being rude but George only laughed. He bent at the waist so he could look at the boy a little closer.

"I will see what I can do."

* * *

The week went too fast for George. There were days when he just stopped by the shop for a few minutes, to say hello or chat with the boys for a few minutes before he kept on his way to resolve whatever going on's he was trying to wrap up. And then there were days where he would sit in the backroom with a book and watch the boys entertain themselves. Often, it was Alexander on the floor, drawing or writing his letters over and over while he practiced; as he was a little older, James helped his mother more with some of the more menial tasks around the shop when he wasn't entertaining his brother. When James was busy, though, that task swiftly fell to George.

"Colonel Washington?"

When he would look up from the book, the child would be staring up at him with wide brown eyes, his parchment and pens forgotten and he would begin with just one question that would often spiral into many others depending on how George answered it. In only the couple of days he had visited, he had explained how his farm worked, what sort of crop they kept, what tobacco was, how horses were taken care of, what they were fed and why; how it was to be in the army, what it was like to live in the colonies, what _were_ the colonies, and so on and so forth until George was sure there was nothing more the boy could possibly want to know, and then he would begin on another set of questions, sometimes completely unrelated to the subject they had been discussing. And while he thought he would normally find this an absolutely exhausting exercise, he was keenly aware of how he would probably miss it almost immediately, and so he always indulged the child, regardless of what he may have preferred to be doing.

Which he realized, very quickly, was little else.

Rachel always apologized for it. "He's so inquisitive, I'm so sorry if he's bothering you..."

"I enjoy it, actually, very much. I wouldn't be coming by if I didn't." He'd assured her. "You most certainly didn't overstate how bright he was."

"Bright is surely a word for it."

This indulgence, of course, led Alexander to become rather attached in the short period of time that he began to visit, and by the time the end of the week closed in, bringing George's departure along with it, Alexander was absolutely taken with the man. So on that Friday morning when he saw George down by the wharf, he howled for him loudly as his older brother climbed up a bit of rigging hanging off the edge of some barrels and boxes.

George hadn't planned on stopping into see them that day, as it was his last full day on the island and he had many last minute things to take care of before sailing back home. As he had seen the boys every day since he'd been back from Charleston, there was a moment where he thought it may have been best to merely pause for a greeting and a swift chat, but Alexander was wailing so plaintively, so close, it seemed, to the edge of a tantrum, he decided to stop and try and calm him down. James, as Alexander was so outrageously pointing out, stood atop of some cargo and rope coiled there.

"He could get hurt up here." James explained as the older man walked over. George looked down at him, brows raised.

"As could you."

James fixed George with an exhaustive look that looked as if he were barely fighting a roll of the eyes. "Well, I'm bigger than he is."

"Oh, are you now?" George asked, turning his attention to the smaller boy. Though no tears had made their presence known, he could see the boy's breathing deepen with every moment he was denied the thing he wanted and glared up at his brother so fiercely that had he been granted the power to do so, he could have set him aflame. George forced himself to be serious, and kneeled down next to him.

"Alexander. You have to calm down..."

"But I want to see the ships, I can't ever see them! Everyone is bigger than me, and there's all these things here, and I **_want_ ** to see the ships..."

"Alexander." George said, a little more firmly this time. "You will learn that losing your temper is no way to get the things that you want." He had been more than hesitant this past week of any physical contact with the boy, partially because he was such a stranger to the little boy, but for this, he gently placed his hands on Alexander's shoulders and tipped his head upward. "Breathe, Alexander. Deep breath..."

The boy looked as if he'd rather be strangled, but after a little coaxing, George had managed to keep him from completely making a scene and as a reward, he made a decision and promptly lifted the child into the air as he'd done with Martha's little boy only a few weeks ago.

Alexander gasped as they rose, and grabbed onto jacket tightly. He opened his mouth to tell George that he was too big to be held but then he turned his head toward the water and his tirade was squelched before it could even begin.

George hadn't thought of it, of how the wharf was littered with boxes and barrels, and other bits of cargo that would've blocked the child's view, especially when he was so close to the ground. Alexander's eyes grew wide and he seemed to lean toward the harbor as if he could actually get closer to it, and George only held on a bit tighter to keep him from becoming top heavy and falling. Though it felt as if the boy weighed near nothing, he was a gangly little thing, and George was a little worried he may squirm out. It was not quite that he'd never seen the ships---on the contrary, he'd been down with his mother to the docks many times, but with an unobstructed view, even only a couple dozen or so meters away...

The birds cut the sky in synced patterns, back and forth in front of background of what seemed to be hundreds of sails against a bright blue sky. He could hear just the hum of the men as they worked and shouted closer to the harbor, and could see the true expanse of the water in a complete scene that was almost too busy for him to keep up with. George simply watched him as his eyes roved over everything, taking it all in.

When he'd surveyed enough, he craned his neck back and grinned to find his older brother only came up to his own waist and he shrieked with delight about it. Though James scowled, he could still see what he wanted, and so he kept his mouth shut and said not a word about it, lest George scoop him up like a child as well.

"Which is yours?" Alexander turned his attention back to George, once again naturally inquisitive. "Mama says you're going back to the colonies. Which one's yours?"

He huffed a bit of a laugh and turned his face to the harbor for a quick scan, before pointing to a ship closer to the outside of the gathering, a Union Jack high upon the mast. "Do you see? The blue and red flag there? Half of its' sails are furled but..."

The boy was already nodding. "I see it!" He pointed as well and stared for a few seconds before he turned to George. "It's a big ship! Will you come back on it as well?"

He hadn't meant it any certain way. There was no sadness or want in his words, only the knowledge that most people came and went often, and he watched George expectantly, as if the man would tell him he'd be back in two or three weeks time. George paused, considering how to answer, and then lowered the boy back to the ground so he could look better at him.

"Alexander, I don't know that I will be coming back."

Alexander frowned. "But. Everyone always does. Papa comes home every other week, just like Mama says. And Mr. Stevens, and Uncle Peter, and..."

George forced a smile. "I'm afraid Virginia is much further away than that. And I won't be working here any longer." He paused, and restrained himself from reaching out to take the small boy's hand in his own. "Do you understand?"

"Because of the crops? At the farm?" Alexander asked, his brow scrunching in thought. And George couldn't help but laugh. Not only had he asked a million questions, but he had listened and remembered! And while it may not have been his to feel, a small amount of pride welled within him.

"Exactly. Because of the crops. At the farm."

"Oh. Alright then." Alexander replied with a shrug.  "Well if you do," He looked up at George, "Will you come see us again?"

George opened his mouth as if to answer, but he found no words that seemed to want to produce. Instead, after a few soft moments, he closed it, and settled on the child with a soft, wan smile. "Of course, Alexander. If ever I come back to the island."

James hopped down then, the thin soles of his shoes hitting the pavement with a sharp thwack and caused Alexander to spin with a delighted shriek. George decided then to abandon any melancholy he was feeling and pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head at the boys. "Come now. Your mother will worry."

He trailed behind them as they barrelled their way back to the office, Alexander gushing about the ships and the birds and the people, and James putting up with it, until they made their way to the shop and pressed inside, while their mother slipped out in their place.

“I didn’t expect you today.” She began softly, watching to make sure the boys had disappeared inside before turning back to him. She raised a hand over her eyes to shield the sun as she looked up at him.

“I hadn’t planned on it. And I can’t stay, there’s far too much to be done before we leave tomorrow, but they were playing on some of the extra cargo near the wharf and I wanted to see them home safely.”

She made a noise of understanding and nodded. She dropped her hand to her hip, relaxing back on her leg. “You wanted to stop in tomorrow morning before you leave?”

“If that is still alright.”

“Of course.” She nodded, and looked back up at him, searching his expression. “I hope you don’t hate me.” She said quietly. “I hope you know that if there were any way…”

“I do know.” He replied softly. “I just wish things were different.” He shrugged, looking around. He wondered if his attentions to the little shop had been noticed. He had been conscious of his visits, and other than this morning, had not paid either of the boys attention outside the privacy of the shop. If at all, he appeared perhaps an old merchant friend stopping by while he visited.

He brushed the thoughts away with a slight shake of the head. “Excuse me, Rachel, but I really must be going. I will see you tomorrow morning.” He turned to go but stopped in mid-stride. “Please tell the boys goodbye for me.”

“I will.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He had to stop by several other clerks shops to ensure his paper work for passage was in place, and stopped by to meet with a lawyer he’d written to when he was still in Virginia to verify that he’d made proper enough arrangements to ensure his dealings were indeed settled, then returned back to his rented room where he made sure his personal effects were in order. He had a small drink and some bread and fruit for dinner before retiring for the evening, which only led him into a fitful sleep.

Ill-rested, much to his chagrin, he arose with the sun and the sounds of those outside preparing for their daily tasks. He freshened up with the bit of water he’d been mindful to grab the night before and dressed quickly. When he walked outside, Billy Lee stood there, awaiting his direction. He ordered for him and the other men to take his things to the docks to be loaded onto the ship, and grabbed only his small satchel before departing with an assurance he’d join them shortly.

His legs weighed like lead with every step that drew him closer to the shop Rachel now kept. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say, or do, or if it would be anything. Perhaps it would be best to just pat the boy on the head with some kind, general words and to leave quickly. Perhaps it would be best to just skip the shop altogether.

His gut twisted at the thought and he knew that no, he surely needed to at least see the child again. His feet carried him the remainder of the way and let himself into the front of the shop easily enough and there was Rachel, jotting something in a ledger, finishing what she was working on before looking up at him and smiling softly.

“Good morning, George.” She turned toward the back room and called for the boys to come out and say goodbye to the Colonel, and her words were met with a great clattering of movement that soon produced two young boys with bright eyes and wide smiles.

With a joyous holler, Alexander threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms around George’s legs tightly before springing back and looking up at him expectantly. James followed behind his brother with an exasperated look, for he was much more grown up and believed a firm handshake to be much more proper than the unrestrained performance his brother had just given. When Alexander drew back, they stood side by side, hands behind their backs, both looking up.

George swallowed hard, the warm feeling of the child’s arms fading quickly and he smiled softly with a chuckle. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a few pieces of candy and held them out with a quick peek at Rachel, who nodded. “As promised.”

Alexander’s went wide as saucers but he slid a look at his brother to wait for him to make the first move. Very politely, James took the candy from George’s hand, immediately giving half of the pieces to his brother, who clenched onto it as if it were gold.

“And what do you say boys?”

“Thank you, Colonel Washington.”

They had repeated it almost in tandem, James speaking first with Alexander rushing through to catch up and garbling his name. They continued to smile up at him, although he could see they were anxious and so he laughed, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm.

“At ease with you,” And they both broke and relaxed, Alexander scrambling toward the back room with an urgency that startled George, and he looked over at Rachel in question.

Her smile hadn’t faded. “He has something for you. Apparently you made quite the impression at the dock.”

As the boy scrambled back out into the main area of the store, George lowered himself onto a chair so that he may be closer to their level. James had not fled as his younger counterpart had, and instead seemed content to wait his turn for the goodbye. Alexander came skidding to a stop in front of him and thrust what looked to be a word piece of parchment at him, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet.

George chuckled, uncertain of what exactly a three year old would be presenting him with and at first, though he would never have said it to the child, he’d truly not understood what it was until he’s turned it about once or twice, and then his expression softened.

"See? The boats!" Alexander boasted, pointing out the squiggles meant to be birds, or waves, and the other shapes meant to be the ships they'd looked upon the day before.

Other scribbles of black lines took up most of the page, most---at first glance---to be indecipherable. But then, as he focused more, he saw...thin, ill-proportioned figures, one very large, one small and standing on something, the other apparently floating in midair on the other side.

The large one wore a fixed triangle atop his head, scribbled in with the black charcoal pencil. And in the corner of the page, most illegibly drawn, were four letters spelling out the boy's name. He ran his thumb over that bit, grinding the backs of his teeth all at once.

George sighed softly, looking up at the boy, who appeared very proud of himself. He folded the paper back up and tucked it into his satchel. He brought his hand up to the boys head to ruffle his hair, his lips pursing into a smile.

“Thank you, Alexander. It's a very impressive picture. I will treasure it always.” He lifted a hand and beckoned James closer, shooting Rachel look over the older boys shoulders. He saw her jaw clench and watched her take a deep breath, before turning and heading toward the back room, a delicate hand over her mouth.

“Now James,” He began firmly, turning back to the duo. “I want to start off by thanking you for letting me visit while I was here. I know that, when your father’s gone, you help out your mother a lot. And although you may not remember me so well, we’re old friends.” He smiled, chucking the boy gently on the chin. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You too, sir.”

He shifted toward Alexander then, and helped back a snort as the boy, quite frankly looked already bored, but seemed to focus a little better once he realized it was his turn.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he began with a grin, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, and for a moment he let himself just look at the child. Shoulder length shiny brown locks, not yet bound for a queue, wide brown eyes and a button nose, he blinked as he awaited his own goodbye, but suddenly George found himself quite reluctant to give it.

“You’re a very bright boy, Alexander. I have very much enjoyed getting to know you.” He slid out of the chair and pulled the boy into a quick hug. It felt odd and somewhat wrong, considering he hadn't hugged the other boy, but he couldn’t help it. He didn't hold him long though and relinquished the embrace, pushing himself back onto his feet, He reached down to pat and squeeze James’s shoulder so as not to leave him completely out, and the older boy, in fact, looked quite relieved. He bent back down closer to Alexander now that he was on his feet.

“You be good for your mama, Alexander. Your father too.” He managed. “And mind your brother.”

Alexander shot a sharp look at his brother, but didn’t say anything. George ruffled his hair then, and patted him on the back so as to signal a dismissal, and he watched as the two of them hurried to the back, disappearing forever behind the loose linen curtain.

He found himself short of breath at the realization, and grabbed one hand with the other, pressing his thumb in the center of it as he swallowed a few times, taking long, deep breaths to quell the sensation. And when he looked up…

_Rachel._

Gentle anguish painted her face and she played with the skirts of her dress as they took in the other quietly.

“Are you done talking to them?”

“I think that’s probably best. There’s not much more to say.” He responded softly.

“And you’re leaving now?”

He nodded curtly. “High tide will be just before noon, and the Captain prefers to get out around then.” He looked down at her. “It has been wonderful to see you again as well. I hope you don’t think this changes that for me.”

She stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowing before she stepped forward and looped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“I do wish things were different. I’m sorry this is the way it has to be.” He could feel the crown of her hair brush his jaw line, and gently returned to embrace. “He will be well loved and taken care of."

When the pulled away, he didn't let his hands drop from her waist and looked pointedly down at her. “And if that changes for any reason…”

She nodded. “You’ll get first word.”

He bent back toward the chair and grabbed for his bag, satisfied with her answer. They’d agreed to stay in touch sparingly, and so he hoped that if at the very least she needed pecuniary aid, she’d let him assist her. He straightened and sighed, and then leaned forward quickly and kissed her cheek before pulling away. She took one of his hand briefly with her own and squeezed, relinquishing it so that he could leave.

“I’m happy I saw you again too, George. I hope you have a safe journey home. And good luck.”

“Likewise.” He replied, smiling gently. “Goodbye, Rachel.”

And he didn’t look back. He let the door close behind him, and he strode toward the harbor, not letting it leave his sight.

And he’d believed this to be difficult the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was gonna be some martha but it didn't really fit...but. there's already a few one shots pretty much finished for the series, so look out for those soon, if you enjoyed this.
> 
> thank you guys for reading! this is only like 6 chapters, but I am honestly Not Great at finishing stories so this is kind of fun for me. I hope you enjoyed the first part of this. And I hope it was not too schmoopy at points, but I really just wanted George with a small child because of no good reason. So. here we are.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm over at [tumblr](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com/), give me a visit if you so choose.


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